Bebe. B. B-face. Beatrice.
Let’s start with this tidbit: You’re not a huge fan of the ballpit I so excitedly prepped for your brother. That’s fair, most people aren’t keen on dozens of balls in their face. But you’re more interested in picking apart the bigger picture; deconstructing the ball pit, plastic orb by plastic orb, and of course, sucking the life out of each before tossing it to the side.
A little dramatic? Sure. But then again, why not just play in the ball pit?
So you’re not into swimming in plastic, but you do love your baths… Before, during and after. It’s been like that since you were born, but I have to say, lately you are a lot more expressive about the liquid love. You’re practically climbing into the tub, and once inside, you’re actually climbing out of your safety seat. I’m trying to keep you safe, lady!
When I put you straight in the water last week, you couldn’t be happier, except when your brother poured a cup of water over your face. Then you were simply ecstatic.
Yup, add your brother to the bath, and you’re in heaven. The two of you have not only discovered each other, but you now play together, talk to each other, and even – gasp – commit a little sibling rivalry here and there. A jealous act here, a smack there. Ok, it’s one-sided, but you take it in stride. And you’ve greatly improved your hair-pulling technique.
And two more milestones I live for: Clapping and Peekaboo. And you do both with your own little Bebe flair and gummy grin. You clap at the sound of music, you clap at the sound of singing, and you even clap at the sound of me singing supposed music, which is really very respectful of you. And the peekaboo – your little hands lifting a sheet, a towel, a scarf, and playing with me… Can’t get enough of your face.
And, inevitably, you’ve discovered the stairs. You’re not climbing Mount Everest yet, but one small leg lift for baby is one giant leap for oh-crap-we-forgot-to-close-the-gate. So, there’s that.
Probably, most importantly, you’ve got me really thinking this month. Thinking about my mother and me. Our nearly three-decade-old mother-daughter bond, especially as for us it was among the family remainder of boys. What we did together. What we said together. What we still do. What we’ll always be.
And I get to have that again, flipped, with you. Your goofy humor, your chill ease, your cuddly nature. Talking together, travelling together, consulting together, hell, even sparring together.
I am so looking forward to having mother-daughter moments with you.
Whadya got: